A Prelude to Magic
by White Phantom
Summary: In a modern setting, Emmi Tabris, Aleeri Adaar, and Marian Hawke have no reason to believe their lives are anything but normal.
1. The Broken Road That Led Her Here

A/N: This is 3 chapter prelude to Modern Magic, introducing each of the main characters, Emmi Tabris, Aleeri Adaar, and Marian Hawke.

...-...

"Well, _that's_ surprising, isn't it?"

Emmi Tabris hadn't meant to say that out loud, though it had been an inevitability, considering how often it passed through her mind of late. Sarcasm was something she normally reserved for home, and she normally managed a professional façade at work.

Though, _normally_ did mean so much these days. _Normally_ , she wasn't so exasperated as to slip up as she had. After all, she wasn't stupid. She knew she couldn't talk that way to her boss and get away with it.

This place had seemed promising. The original manager had been a good sort, she liked most of her coworkers, and the customers had been pretty decent, too.

This place had started to feel like a second home, a place where she stood on equal ground without having to constantly challenge the people around her just because she was an elf working in a predominately human part of town.

And then her beloved manager had been promoted to a regional position—she'd liked him enough to help set up the going away party for that—and the new management had come in.

At first, she hadn't thought much of it and had continued working as usual. She trained the newcomers coming in for the summer and stayed late to help prepare for the morning shifts, often working overtime.

That had been her normal, a routine that she could more than live with, one she could love.

The former manager had promised she would be promoted to trainer, so that she'd actually get paid for training new people. So that she'd be qualified. He'd stood with the new manager and asserted that he too would uphold this promise.

The man had sworn he would, hand over his heart and a grin on his face.

Then suddenly the shem girl who came in about one day a week and filed her nails more often than take orders was promoted to trainer, even though none of the trainees knew her as anything other than the 'pretty blonde bitch'.

When Emmi had tried to go to the manager about what had happened, it had been pointed out to her that she _couldn't_ train people because she _hadn't_ taken the proper courses, and if she claimed that she had been doing that job, then the restaurant was going to have problems because none of the employees she'd trained had been trained 'properly'.

It would shut the whole place down. Did she want that?

She'd tried to get in contact with the old manager, but when she did, he'd very kindly told her that it was out of his hands. He had too much on his plate as it was, and couldn't micromanage all the restaurants under his jurisdiction.

She'd felt betrayed, but hadn't voiced her grievance. After all, this sort of thing happened more often than not, and a little voice in the back of her head had been counting the days until this latest 'opportunity' fell through.

Even so, she loved this place so much. She'd tried to see the good, tried to weather the changing times and wait for the new manager to come around.

And he had, in the same way a storm blowing back over an area it had already ravaged came around.

This time, her hopes of promotion already dashed, he came for her overtime.

She'd worked overtime for three months before the change, and it had _never_ been a problem.

Yet when she'd gotten her paycheck today, it had reflected barely half of the hours she had worked.

When she'd brought the pay stub in, her boss had smiled and apologetically explained that they weren't authorized to pay for overtime. He said that he'd assumed she was _volunteering_. After all, if she was working over, then that meant she was working fulltime, and she was a part time employee because their business couldn't afford to employ full time employees.

Not with the new legislation in the works that would make them cover their employee's health care.

And that was why she'd slipped up. It was just so clear that this bastard was going to fuck her over as many times as she'd let him, and her sarcastic inner self had bubbled up to the surface.

She hadn't meant for him to hear, but this was _ridiculous_. She needed this job, needed to pay rent, but more than that, she'd wanted to save up so that she could get this little place on the edge of town, a nice house outside of the Alienage, with a yard and room for a small garden…

She'd been figuring how much money it would cost and counting on all those overtime hours to help her get there in a year or two.

And now…

"Excuse me?"

Her boss's usual smile was just barely hanging on, a rather dismissive light in his eyes as he looked her over.

If she apologized, made up some dumb excuse about stress or something equally stupid, begged for her job, she might be able to keep it.

She could keep working excessive hours just to make minimum wage, paid for 39 hours a week even when she worked closer to 70. She could go home exhausted, never any closer to her dreams, watching her fingers get even more calloused and stiff than they already were.

She was twenty-fucking-five, and already she had old lady hands.

Well, her cousin Shianni said they were fine, but Emmi could see the weathered scars from kitchen grease and the small burns and nicks that covered her fingers. She could see the how they would look in another few years, _so_ much work done and _nothing_ to show for it.

Nothing but a _broken_ body and _broken_ dreams because of _broken_ promises.

The light in the bastard's eyes told her he was waiting for her to grovel, waiting for her to beg him to keep her little elven ass on staff.

Quitting wouldn't help her any, but neither would working here.

"I said it's surprising, but it shouldn't be, really. It isn't the first time you broke your promises," she stated, standing a little straighter. "And I quit."


	2. Best Man

A/N: Chapter 2/3.

...-...

 **A** leeri Adar could hear them through the fitting room door, and everything seemed so surreal as he awkwardly tugged on his tuxedo's vest. It barely buttoned and he was pretty sure if he turned or moved, the seam in the back would split.

He wasn't really sure what he'd expected would happen in this sort of scenario, but it hadn't been this.

Though, to be fair, he hadn't intended to start anything today, either. It was funny how the most important days started just the same as all the others.

The mirror in the fitting room was a little low, but he could see most of himself—really he was just headless in the reflection—and he wasn't really sure what to make of what he saw.

He was barefoot, and the pants were several inches too short, but…

"Oi, you. You doing better? Taking those deep breaths with all the counting?" Sera's voice interrupted his thoughts as she rapped something against the door. It sounded too hard to be her knuckles. "I got ya something. Somethings. Some things?"

She trailed off at the last word as though she were confusing herself, and he heard Dagna giggle.

He was surprised by how much that simple, joyful sound made him feel better.

Aleeri had met Dagna at university. They'd been roommates. Dagna had just been leaving a rather oppressive, conservative household, which had basically disowned her for deciding to follow her own path, and Aleeri…

He'd been the first of his family to go to school, and there weren't a lot of Qunari at their university. If not for Dagna, he probably would have dropped out from all the stares alone.

All the stares…

That was the problem with being seven and a half feet tall. No matter what you did, people were going to notice right away. And if he did something like this…

At this point, he felt like he should have been used to this lack of subtlety, and yet the changes this meant still made his stomach do flips.

There was another loud rap on the door. This time, though, Dagna's voice was what came through, her words soft and not for him. "Don't rush him. He might…he might need some more time."

Sera's response was considerably softer than usual, though it still hardly counted for a whisper. "I get that, Widdle, yeah? I just thought…"

There was shuffling and mumbling too low for him to hear.

Even so, he held on to that earlier giggle, to the fact that even with this outburst, things really hadn't changed between him and Dagna.

They'd be friends forever.

Taking in a breath that threatened to pop off a button from his shirt—it was far too tight in his shoulders to begin with, the sleeves were inches too short, and it wasn't nearly wide enough for him—he turned to the door and swung it open.

He'd intended to make a joke about how ridiculous he looked, but when he moved to take a step out of the room, his foot hit cloth, and he looked down to see dozens of undergarments scattered across the floor.

Sera was holding what looked like it might have been an entire shelf from…

Where had she gotten all this from?

There were sports bras, what looked like they might be binders for people considerably smaller than him, and something that, when he picked it up, he was sure was used to hide stomach fat.

"I realize it ain't necessarily your…area of concern for the fitting, but I thought maybe if we cut it we could…" Sera trailed off frowning. "It made sense in my head at the time."

"We could always come back in a few days for the fitting," Dagna offered, bending down to pick up a few of the things her fiancé had dropped.

"I'm sorry. I wasn't really thinking when I—" As he spoke, his gaze was drawn to a long, bright blue bridesmaid dress that had been fitted perfectly for him.

The thing that had started all this.

It was strange that something that shouldn't have been such a big deal had felt so…wrong. Dagna had been examining him as he gave them the obligatory twirl in the dress, frowning as she suggested maybe something a little less flowy for him, when Sera had wagged her finger at Dagna and said something against finding Aleeri something more flattering that went somewhere along the lines of, "It's a blighted long standing tradition that all the ladies that ain't us gotta look bad."

She hadn't meant anything by it, and it wasn't like she could have known, really.

Somehow, that statement was the drop that burst the dam.

"I'm not," he'd been declaring before he could stop himself, "a lady."

And there it was.

The detail that he'd kept to himself his whole damned life.

He'd panicked, locked himself in a dressing room and jerked the dress off, feeling like it was strangling the life out of him. His horns had left a few notable scratches in the wall when he'd tried to bend his head back to rest against the wall.

Part of him felt like the declaration had come out of nowhere, but it had been brewing for a while, the pressures of pretending to be something he wasn't growing stronger and stronger as he helped Dagna and Sera plan their wedding. It was one of the most important days of their lives, and he'd wanted to be himself for it, to not stand there, a lie wrapped in that ungodly bright blue.

It felt a little selfish. Today was _supposed_ to be about preparing for their future, not about him.

It had to be the damned wedding. People always said they were stressful, but he'd assumed that was for the people who were _actually_ getting married.

He wasn't sure how long he'd sat in there when he'd heard Dagna on the other side of the door, offering that she had something for him to try on, though she wasn't tall enough to toss it over to him.

A tuxedo.

He'd had a feeling she'd known for a while. Since they were first roommates, really. She'd never said anything about it, but he'd always been able to be more himself around her than anyone else, and he'd always liked to think that she knew him as he really was, even without words.

And it turned out she did.

When he'd first traded the dress for the tux, he'd noticed that it was just the two of them still in the back, and had felt terrible about it as he closed himself back in the little room. Sera had always been a good friend, and he'd snapped at her during a damned fitting for _their_ wedding.

And yet…

To know she'd disappeared to find him a way to bind himself for his measurements for a tuxedo without so much as a quip about how he was messing up everything—and so last minute, too—meant so much more than he could put into words.

"Andraste's tits," Sera swore softly, appraising Aleeri. "They said they didn't have much in the tall department, but this is just sad."

"Adjustments can be made, though," Dagna nodded quickly. "It'll be like the dre—like anything else you've worn. Once it's fitted, you'll be amazing."

As Aleeri reached up to scratch his temple near the base of his horn, he heard fabric tear. This vest really was way too small.

The three of them stood there in silence for a few minutes before Dagna finally shrugged. "If it makes you feel better, Sera's torn her wedding dress three times so far."

"No telling—" Sera started before turning to eye Aleeri skeptically. "She probably would have told you anyway. Not another soul hears about it, though, yeah?"

With a slow smile, Aleeri nodded to her and then to Dagna.

His family.

"My lips are sealed."


	3. A Solemn Dinner Date

Marian sat at her table, staring across from her at the empty seat as the candles burned lower and lower.

While on some days she might have griped about how _of course_ she'd be seated in a table in the middle of the restaurant when something like this happens, her humor was gone, empty as the chair across from her.

Bethany and Carver were both off at college, and despite wanting to come home for the anniversary, Bethany hadn't had the money to take a trip here all the way from the Anderfels, and Marian hadn't had the money to pay for it herself.

No doubt she was having their own night of remembrance, in her own quiet corner of the world.

Carver had said he might be able to make it. He lived closer, and it wasn't as big of a deal to come sit with his big sis on the anniversary of their dad's death, and yet…she'd waited half an hour for him before getting an emotionless text stating he couldn't make it.

She'd tried to pretend that her dad was sitting across from her, but that just made it hurt more.

Worse, part of her felt like she was losing the twins, too.

Their parents were gone and now they were off furthering their lives and…

And she was sitting alone with an empty chair.

With a sigh, she finally hauled herself up from the seat. She'd lost her appetite and there was no point in taking up space she wasn't going to use. As she grabbed her coat and turned to go, she nearly walked into a man who had just approached. He had one hand on the back of the empty seat, and the other out to steady her, in case their near collision made her lose her balance.

Piercing blue eyes met her own as he awkwardly straightened up and ran his tawny fingers through his hair, at a complete loss for words.

He seemed embarrassed and so she leaned toward him, confused. "Can I help you?"

"That's what I was going to do," he replied, met her gaze and then looked down. "Help you." There was a pause before he motioned to the table. "You looked so lonely, and I was hoping perhaps I could help you save face from being stood up."

Marian stared at him for a long, quiet moment, blinking slowly. Then, she couldn't help but let out a loud, sharp laugh. "You…you thought I got stood up by a date?" Then, even as heat drew to his cheeks, she laughed and shook her head. "No, no. I'm sorry. I was hoping to meet my brother, but he couldn't make it. Ass decided to text me after I was already here, and I just…"

He let out an awkward laugh. "Well, that makes more sense, I suppose. I shouldn't have made assumptions. I mean, who would stand up such a lovely—" His eyes widened and he stopped mid-sentence. "I'm not hitting on you. I promise. I would never prey on someone when they're getting stood up—which you weren't, but—"

"Do you wanna get out of here and get a burger somewhere?" She held her hands up when he looked at her, those gorgeous blue eyes wide. "As a thank you for being so ready to save my dignity. If you'd like, I can promise not to hit on you, too." Even as he let out a half laugh, she motioned to herself, a smile in place. Maker, but it felt good to smile. "I'm Marian, by the way."

"Sebastian." He hesitated, though as she started toward the door—slowly—he turned and matched her pace. "So. A nice, pleasant dinner with no flirting."

"Definitely," Marian nodded. "I absolutely promise not to bring up how gorgeous your accent is."

Another laugh. It was a heavenly sound. "Well, I thank you for that. If you did bring that up, I'd be hard pressed not to mention your lovely smile."

"Well, it's a good thing we've promised to be good and proper," Marian nodded.

For just a second, as they stepped out of the restaurant, she thought she saw her parents across the way, arm in arm and smiling.

Of course, it was just the reflection of a couple passing by, and when she looked back at the storefront, it was empty.

Somehow, that emptiness didn't reach her this time.


	4. Make Believe

_A/N: I lied, there's a 4th chapter. Also, this chapter is horror, so beware for violence and a bit of gore._

...-...

The city was hers, had been for years.

It was one of the few places where Templars were still trained and housed—in a much revamped former Circle, no less. Once called the Gallows—and honestly still sometimes referred to it as such by the locals—the upper levels had been knocked out and rebuilt, providing more accommodating housing for the Chantry's forces.

Once upon a time, knight-templars had supposedly been sent off to hunt people believed to be mages, to keep a vigilant watch to make sure magic didn't consume the world.

Meredith Stannard doubted the so-called mages had been more than transients or the mentally ill, for magic was about as real as…

Well, she had seen some people able to light a candle or make a flower bloom momentarily, but it was hard to say that they weren't gimmicks, and they were hardly skills capable of taking over the world.

Yes, magic was little more than parlor tricks and superstition, and templars were a military force that fought back the Qunari and civil disobedience. Regardless of what history said, they kept order, not mages.

And, generally speaking, they did a damned good job of it. Especially here in Kirkwall. She kept her recruits and more seasoned soldiers alike sharp and ready for anything that might come, and she was proud to boast that they were some of the most level-headed and subordinate soldiers in Thedas.

Which was why it struck her as exceptionally annoying that she would return to the Gallows to find it in such disarray.

Had she not _just_ been bragging to the Clerics about this lot? This lot who now was acting like a bunch of scared children.

As she strode through the recruits who had all congregated in the courtyard in their sleep attire to stare up at the building as though it had grown fangs, she noticed that as they saw her, one of two things happened. Either relief swept over them, or they became even more frightened.

There was no in between.

She stalked up the old steps—while the inside of the Gallows had been redesigned, the outside had not, and she liked to think of it as a homage to history. Now, though, even the twisted, tortured statues seemed to watch her with trepidation.

Ser Thrask stood at the entrance to the main hall, flanked with several seasoned templars. Every last one of them had their guns drawn, ready to shoot _into_ the building should someone come out. When Ser Thrask saw her, he looked immensely relieved, which—considering they were hardly fond of one another—was highly out of character and jarring. "Knight-commander! Thank the Maker—"

"What is going on?" Meredith demanded before another thought struck her. For them to already be evacuated like this… "Why was I not contacted when this began?"

"Communications lines are unreliable at the moment." At that, he paused, wincing as he tried to find the words to explain just what he meant. It was almost as though he expected her not to believe whatever he had to say. "We…we attempted to contact you, but the call was intercepted somehow and false orders were given, directing Ser Kerras' team into her path."

Meredith stood very still, eyes narrowing. Someone was intercepting their communications? "Why would they take orders from someone other than me?"

"They— _we_ all thought it was you." Ser Thrask couldn't help but shift his weight a little uncomfortably. "There's not a soul who heard her voice who wouldn't have sworn you were the one giving the orders."

"I assume, if they were sent into this woman's path, they found her?"

"It."

Someone whispered the word from the line in front of the door, and Meredith felt her suspicion rise. "It?"

Ser Thrask stepped closer to her, lowering his voice. "We're…not quite sure who—or what is in the building." Even as Meredith's brow arched and she straightened up a little in disbelief to hear such words from so seasoned a templar, he added, "I saw _something_ fling Ser Otto out a window and into the side courtyard, but I didn't get a clear view of who…or what."

"The glass is bullet proof." There was no way anyone was thrown through three and a half inches of glass.

"Didn't do a lick of good against this thing."

"Is Ser Otto alright?"

"No, ser. He's dead." Ser Thrask grimaced. "Likely before the three story fall or even before he broke the glass."

"Where is everyone else?"

Ser Thrask motioned toward the entrance. "Inside, sweeping for her—it."

"And you have no idea what 'it' is?"

The closest Templar in their line, Ser Agatha, dared a glance at Ser Thrask, as though exasperated that he wasn't saying what everyone had already agreed upon. Even as Ser Thrask gave her a warning look, she turned to Meredith. "We think it's a demon."

She couldn't help the sneer that twisted her features. "A demon."

What was next, witches and abominations?

She took a moment to gather herself and resist the urge to beat every last one of them. What were they going to tell the recruits about this nonsense? Considering their current fears, what had they _already_ been told?

Motioning to Ser Agatha, she drew her own gun from her holster. "Hold the line." It was easily the most ridiculous order she'd ever given. "Ser Thrask, come with me."

Of all the things to happen, this had to easily be the worst. If word got out of a demon scare in this day and age, she'd be laughed out of the Order. Worse, her credibility would be shot, and she'd lose most of the sway she had over the city.

Her musings slowly began to shift, however, when they found the first floor of the Gallows to be completely empty.

Then, as they made their way cautiously up a stairway, they found the first sweep team.

Or rather, they found their bodies.

She had seen what qunari blasting powder could do, had seen what the brutes themselves were capable of, if they got their hands on someone. She'd seen terrorist attacks and civil unrest, and yet nothing had prepared her for this.

The bodies were mangled as though a wild beast had gotten ahold of them, and there were bullet holes in the walls. Some of the team members looked like they'd even shot each other.

And the blood.

Maker help her, but she'd never seen so much blood.

If she didn't know better, she'd have thought someone somehow pulled it out of them, draining the bodies completely to make the most hellish scene possible.

It pooled across the floor, dying the tiles read, splashed up across the walls, dripping from the ceiling, still seeping out of deep gouge marks in the bodies.

And then there was the smell of burnt flesh. It was hard to see through all that damned blood, but some of the templars had been singed. Some looked like they'd been burned from the inside out.

Magefire…?

She dismissed the idea instantly. That was foolish. Magic wasn't…real.

Maker preserve her, but this was madness.

The same scene played out twice more as they found the second and third sweep teams.

At the third scene, there were claw marks in the walls, deep and long. Not that she would admit it, but she could see why some people were calling their attacker a demon.

Someone was certainly going a long way to make it look like one; they'd hit just about every stereotypical detail of one.

Even as she turned to ask Ser Thrask how many others were possibly in the building—to think they might need backup when they typically _were_ the backup was something that would have to embarrass her later—the lights began to flicker.

Ser Thrask paled, weapon cocked as oddly heavy footsteps sounded from the hall behind them.

As Meredith cocked her own gun and began to creep down the hall toward the noise, a figure stepped out from the end of the hall, and she was taken aback.

When her subordinates hadn't called whatever this was an 'it', they'd said 'she', and yet what walked out into her line-of-sight was so clearly masculine. The man was well-toned yet still slender and scantily clad, with blood dripping down from his long fingers, though she almost instantly forgot all that as she noted the large, curling horns sticking up from his head.

Even as she decided this must be a qunari—even if he wasn't as muscular as they typically looked—something flicked behind him.

A tail?

Abruptly, the hall lights brightened, and the creature was gone.

Keeping her weapon high, Meredith looked back over her shoulder and stopped.

Ser Thrask was gone, as were the bodies, the blood, the claw marks.

Everything looked…normal.

A boot clacked against the tile floor and she snapped her attention back down the hall to where the creature had been.

Instead, Ser Thrask was walking toward her, smile in place.

"Is something wrong, knight-commander?"

"The creature—"

Ser Thrask frowned and stopped in his tracks for a moment. "I was hoping word hadn't reached you of that. It was nothing more than a hoax by a few recruits. Embarrassing, really."

Meredith's brow pinched together.

What he was saying made so much sense—it was what she had figured was going on before the bodies had started piling up—and yet…

She remembered the looks the recruits had given her, now foggy, like it had all been a horrid dream.

"Knight-commander—"

The voice came from behind her, and cut off abruptly. She could have sworn she heard a gunshot.

Yet the halls were clear, save for her and Ser Thrask, and he didn't have his weapon drawn.

Ser Thrask frowned, still sauntering closer and closer. "Some of the recruits won't let it go. I'll handle it. A few threats home should take care of things."

Even as he spoke, Meredith raised her gun again. Whatever this was, this wasn't right.

Seeing the resolve harden in her eyes, Ser Thrask let out a sharp hiss, face contorting into something hideously inhuman as he lunged toward her.

She fired, and the lights went out.


End file.
